❦

• also becomes absolutely livid when you think of him as just a part of your dreams. of course, how would you know any different? he only shows himself in your dreams, and he has yet to physically touch you in the mortal realm. he plans to… but he can’t yet.

• that’s why the first time you fucked someone else, he fucked you so hard in your dreams that your body was bruised and marked when you woke; imprints of his teeth left deep in your skin to show you, his little human, that you belonged to him. completely and fully.

• and that’s when you realized it wasn’t just a dream, or a conjuration of your own deepest fantasies— he was real. enjin was real, as was all that unbelievable pleasure he brought you.

• and thats how you found yourself in a semi-relationship with a literal dream demon, how you found yourself getting fucked by him nearly every night— and aching for him when he didn’t show.

• by the way, yes, he has horns. and a tail. and yes. he loves it when you hold on to his horns while he rams the shit out of you. actually, he tells you to.

• “c’mon, my li’l human— i know it’s a lot, my cock stretching you out like this. so jus’ grab my horns, baby— fuck yeah, hold on to ‘em. fuck, that’s so good— shit, squeeze ‘em a little— fu-u-uuuuck—”

• his tail kind of has a mind of its own sometimes. it’ll wrap around your thigh while he plows you from the back, or it might even sneak between his legs to rub against your clit and make your eyes roll back.

• yes. he has fucked you with his tail. and came just from doing so. (it’s a very sensitive tail, okay? and your pussy is too fucking hot and soft of course he came from it)

• fae-king!tamsy 🧚🏻‍♂️👑 outwardly, he embodies everything you think of when you hear the word fae: elegance, poise, ethereal beauty, giant, gorgeous wings and an aura that could make anyone bow to him; yet he seems so gentle and caring, too.

• but inwardly? oh, he’s completely unhinged. has that attitude that because he’s a king, he should always have everything he wants. that it’s his right to.

• that includes you.

• the second he saw you wandering around his forest, he knew— you were his queen. the one he’d been searching for. the one that would fulfill him completely; and he had to have you.

• he courts you with gigantic, elegant feasts and balls thrown only in your honor. spoils you with the finest cloth and shiniest jewelry hand-made by the most talented of fae artisans. he really doesn’t care that you’re human; you’re still his queen. and he wants you to look the part.

• speaking of ‘looking the part’— when you fuck, he keeps you plugged up with his cock; sloshes his cum gently around in your pussy and hums while you squirm from it.

• “stay still, my queen. let it take, hmm?” as he slides his hand across your tummy, holds you completely still while he pumps load after load into you. “you’ll give me a beautiful heir, i know it. gods, my perfect queen, to be all swollen with my seed— fuck, i’m such a lucky king, aren’t i?”

• he doesn’t really ask if you even want to be bred by him— he simply does it. you’re his queen, yes? that means it’s your duty to be bred by him. to grant him an heir. just as it’s his duty to love and worship you fully, to ensure your happiness and satisfaction.

• so. much. sex. so much fucking sex. he just can’t get enough of your sultry, cute human body— can’t stop watching your greedy cunt suck in his cock with every brutal yet loving thrust he bullies you with. the way you tremble and shake because he knows no mortal man before him could even compare. and, also, you really really need to get pregnant.

• bull-hybrid!gris 🐂🌾 who, truly, looks more human than anything. the only things to set him apart are the horns atop his head and the insane strength and stamina he possesses within every inch of his body.

• he’s gentle and soft despite his monstrous size, always speaking to you with such respect and handling you with such care, like you’re made of porcelain.

• maybe that’s why it was so easy to fall for him, and to plunge your fingers into your cunt late at night with his name on your lips and the thought of what his cock looks like firm in your mind.

• why it was so easy to fantasize exactly how he’d treat you; how he’d fuck you and touch you in that gentle, soft way of his. lift you up so easily while he does it, make you feel like a pretty, loved princess while he ruins your damn insides.

• god, you want him so bad…

• of course, gris wants you too. has fisted his enormous cock and grunted out your name as he did so, lewdly fantasizing about what you’d look like all spread and catatonic on his dick. he knows he’d fuck you so full, so good, could leave you aching for weeks. make you the happiest, most satisfied mate.

• the first time he fucked you, he could only do it with the tip. even though you were soaked, sloppy, open and ready for him, pushing more than an inch past his tip proved to be too much— your face had scrunched in pain and your body tensed, but your mouth begged him to put it all in; told him that you wanted to feel all of him inside you.

• but he knows you aren’t ready— not yet. so he keeps fucking his tip into your drooly cunt from behind, mounted on you like some animal, and uses his strength to keep your hips still as you try desperately to fuck them back on to him. coos and murmurs in your ear when you whine and writhe and mewl his name.

• “s’okay, sweetheart— i got you. god, you’re so good f’me— mmm, just taking me like this. hah-haaah— you’re so tight and warm, fuck— are you okay? ‘m not hurting you, am i? so close… fuck…”

• fuck, no, he’s not hurting you. god, you’re literally going delirious from how good just his tip feels, from how full he stretches you and how deep he reaches. how his hips stutter and his breathing quickens when he gets closer.

• and when he cums… god it’s so much that it’s like he’s pumping gallons into you. it’s so thick and copious that it spills out around his cock that he keeps fucking into you, nearly bulges your tummy with how much he spills in you.

• and that’s also the only time he allows himself to become more animalistic— his thrusts turn rougher, voice darker, hands rougher. no longer the gentle giant he was when he first started fucking you. no longer caring if he may accidentally thrust too much inside, if he bulges you more than he ever intended.

• fucking rambles about breeding you, so drunk on just the thought that it’s like he doesn’t process anything else.

• “take it, baby— fuck, yes. gonna breed a baby into you— haaah, fuck– shit. take all of it right into your belly— shiiiiiit, good girl—,”

• apologizes profusely after, even though you can’t really register much other than being so full and fucked happy. and all you can really think about is how much you want him to fuck you like that again.

what he really liked about you though, was the way you looked at him. eren already a sort of god complex, and you definitely didn’t help the way you looked at him as if he created the moon and stars.

after a very tearful goodbye on your end you headed back to your city, but that didn’t stop you from texting everyday. sometimes he replied, sometimes he didn’t because of his busy schedule. he always did call you though, usually it’d be past midnight but that didn’t matter to you—especially when he’d always say bye to you by tapping his tip against the screen, muttering a sultry ‘we miss you.’

new message from renny ⋆𐙚₊˚⊹

i miss u too mama.

send your addy, i’m coming to you.

you squealed into the soft cotton of your sheets, your sock covered feet kicking wildly against your mattress. thee eren yeager was about to come to your lil ol’ apartment, like this couldn’t be real.

you carefully typed out your address, your toes wiggling in excitement. you shut your laptop and rolled out of bed, quickly shuffling your feet to your closet.

you figured he’d have you out of your clothes minutes after he got here, so you settled on ditching your pajamas, and wearing just your pink robe.

message sent to renny ⋆𐙚₊˚⊹

are u gonna do all that stuff you said in your messages?

you pupils dilated when the gray bubble popped up, your teeth clamping onto your bottom lip. eren texted you a lot of dirty promises, making you squirt on his dick in the prone bone position being the one you were most excited for.

whenever you were bored at work, or before you fell asleep at night, you’d imagine him having you in a tight chokehold while he fucked into your sore pussy from behind. that usually led to you sending eren explicit videos of your rubbing your pulsing pussy desperately, whining n’ babbling about how you wish it were him making you cum instead.

eren would only make it worse by feeding into it. while he recorded himself stroking his cock, he’d be growling out filthy praises about your cute cunt and how good she’d feel wrapped around him.

new message from renny ⋆𐙚₊˚⊹

you’ll see

[attachment: 1 imagine]

just know i’m ready, been thinking about your pretty pussy all day.

a whine bubbled in your chest as you zoomed in on live photo of his very prominent print. his tatted hand was gripping onto it, and if you clicked on it, the live photo would show him squeezing it softly. the cuban chain on his wrist glistened obnoxiously from the flash—you couldn’t wait to the feel the cold metal against your neck when he choked you.

you loosened the knot on your robe, exposing your breasts more than they already were. your nipples were peeking out, giving eren just the perfect peek to what is to come.

message sent to renny ⋆𐙚₊˚⊹

hurry up :((

[attachment: 1 image]

while you were giggling to yourself, eren was gripping his phone in frustration. he needed you, now. ever since he last saw you all he could think about was you. your face, your scent, your voice, your pretty moans. he was totally smitten.

“we’ll be arriving shortly,” the driver said in a monotone voice. eren hummed, unlocking his phone to tell you he was almost there.

he was thankful you didn’t leave in the city, the last thing he would want are fans or paparazzi invading your privacy. but it was california after all, and unfortunately there were rumors he was seen at a hotel with a mystery girl, but he made sure his team squashed those rumors from circulating any further. fame can be intense, he’d be crushed if his lifestyle scared you away.

“m’not sure how long i’ll be here so, uh, just tell jean i said don’t wait up,” eren’s tone was cool as he spoke, but inside he was actually excited to see you. he pulled his hoodie up, scoping the scene before stepping out of the car. as eren walked towards your apartment building he heard—

‘psst! up here!’

he slowly looked up and there you were, standing on your balcony, wearing nothing but a robe and a pair of slippers. your hair gently moved with the light breeze, and you had the giddiest smile on your lips—this shit felt like it was a scene out of movie.

you bounced on the balls of your feet as you waited for eren to make it to your door, and finally you heard three knocks. you couldn’t deny that you were nervous—he was a celebrity after all. someone who was known globally and loved by many, he was just a very intimidating guy.

the second you opened the door, you were yanking him in by his hoodie, your chests clashing together. “damn girl, miss me?” eren grinned, wrapping his arms around your waist. you bit your lip, looking at him with nothing but swirls of love and lust in your eyes. “yeah, i did.” eren nudged his nose against yours, blindly kicking the door shut behind him and locking it.

when he heard the click! his lips were on yours, a strong scent of vanilla and jasmine hitting his nose. “w-was the flight here okay? you look tired,” your hands cupped his jaw as you examined the under his eyes. you way you looked at him and touched with such care, as if it were natural, had eren feeling things. weird things. he always told others he’d probably never fall for a fan yet here he was, leaning into your touch like a lovesick puppy.

“yeah it was fine. just been a busy week is all, but don’t worry about that. it’s good to see you. you look good. i look this robe on you.”

when he smiled you saw flashes on gold on his teeth, and that had a gush of wetness dripping from your pussy. “thanks . . . i like your grills. like a lot.” eren breathed heavily through his nose when your thumb ran over his bottom lip, getting a closer look at the grills.

you whined when his lips smushed into yours again, his tongue swiping across your bottom lip. you parted your lips, and he wasted no time slithering his tongue into your mouth, groaning when your tongue swiped across his grills. “take this shit off,” eren’s fingers fumbled with the strings on your robe, slowly pushing it off your shoulders when the knot was undone.

you puffed your naked chest out, giggling because you had left eren utterly speechless. he stepped closer to you, and then closer, and closer until you were backed up against the wall. “i’d try to keep my legs steady if i were you,” his breath was hot on your neck, sending shivers up your spine.

your hands pushed against his hard chest when his hand pushed between your thighs, his ring and middle finger dipping between your folds. “y’know i had to postpone so much shit because i just couldn’t go another day without seein’ you? doesn’t that sound insane? we barely know each other, yet i just can’t get you or this pretty pussy outta my head.”

your lips trembled, eyes fluttering shut as his fingers rolled around you swollen clit. “g-good. i did what i was supposed to do when we fucked then,” your words had eren groaning, his head dipping into your neck to kiss and suck at the sweet smelling skin. he kissed his way down your neck, and eventually your chest, taking his time as he rolled his tongue around each nipple.

he kissed the skin above your naval, smirking at the hello kitty jewelry pierced into the skin. “such a pretty girl, knew you were special the second i saw you in the crowd,” and it was true! out of all the fans that were in the audience, you caught his attention the most. the cheered the loudest, knew the words to every song, and you looked damn good sharing a blunt with your friends as you sung along to his songs.

your back slumped against the wall when you felt his hot tongue circle your clit, his hands snaking behind you to grab at your ass cheeks. every slurp and suck had your legs shaking, so much so that eren just said fuck it and threw your knees over his shoulders.

he was a sloppy eater. his tongue switched from french kissing your clit, to fucking into your clenching hole, all while moaning drunkenly against your pussy. you weren’t scared to rough him up either, your hands tangling themselves in his hair and fucking his mouth. “m’so close renny.”

that only encouraged eren to increase his assault on your clit, flicking the bud back and forth until your thighs were clamping around his head. wave after wave of your cum coated his tongue, and eren happily lapped up all of it. god, you were fucking sweet.

you gasped when eren lifted you off his shoulders, “w-wait stay close to me.” eren nearly lost his balance when you jumped into his arms, your legs wrapping around his slim waist. out of instinct eren cupped your behind, holding you closely to him. “i wasn’t goin’ nowhere mama, now where’s yours bedroom?”

you gave eren directions to your bedroom, all while you were kissing his neck and jaw. “it’s cute in here. it’s really . . . pink,” eren chuckled as he looked around your room. what caught his attention the most was the mountain of plushies on your bed, all varying from sanrio characters to anime characters.

he laid you down gently on your bed, smirking at the pout on your glossy lips. “thank you. now drop your pants m’hungry,” your pink, freshly pedicured foot pressed down on the bulge in his sweats, then pushed against his abdomen. eren lifted your foot up and kissed your ankle, “whatever you want baby.”

eren shed his hoodie and sweats, leaving him in a white wife beater and briefs. you eyed the small, wet patch stained into his briefs, your mouth watering at what was hiding underneath. you sat up, your arm hooking around his thick thigh to pull him closer. eren’s head tilted back when you mouthed at the print in his briefs, your tongue lolling out to lick at the wet patch.

your teeth clamped onto the waistband of his briefs, tugging them down until they were mid thigh. eren’s jaw dropped the tiniest bit when you nuzzled your face into his cock, your tongue peeking out to lick at the base. “c’mon. open that pretty mouth,” his tongue ran over the gold on his teeth as he watched you like a predator stalking its prey.

your mouth parted once more, sucking the tip of his cock in your mouth. you hummed around the muscle, your mouth watering at the salty, yet very sweet taste of him.

“let me fuck your mouth, pretty girl. open up,” you whimpered around eren’s dick as he pushed more into your mouth, strings of saliva dripping from your lips and onto your thighs. your tongue rubbed over the protruding veins on the underside, this earned you a pat on the head, followed by eren cradling your jaw. his thumb ran over the bulge in your cheek, “you’re so pretty.”

you took more of his cock into your mouth until your nose nudged against soft tufts of hair. suddenly you felt a hand squeeze at your throat, the action had you choking around his cock, fat tears now running down your cheeks. “ooou shit, that was tight. do it again for me, baby.” he squeezed at your throat ever so softly as he fucked it, his head tilting back out of pure pleasure. seriously, where have you been all his life.

your cheeks hollowed around his dick, sucking harshly until he had to pull you away by your hair, a thin line of spit still connected to your lips. “mmph, hang your head off the bed. you know what to do.”

indeed you did. after a night of dirty texting you found out that eren was quite fond of throat fucking—especially if a girls head was hanging off the side while he did it. there was something about hearing those violent gags and chokes that had his balls tightening every time he thought about it.

you wiped your mouth with the back of your hand, even though you’ll just get messy literally all over again, and laid down on your back, your head hanging slightly off the side. eren took this opportunity to grasp at your tits, flicking your pretty brown nipples with his thumbs. the cool metal from his rings had them hardening in seconds.

“mm so pretty, now open up gorgeous,” eren tapped his tip against your lips, chuckling when you stuck your tongue out to get the exact same treatment. he rubbed the tip of his cock over the curves of your lips, before running it over your tongue. you greedily swallowed the pre that dribbled onto your tongue.

without warning, eren thrust his hips forward, sheathing more than half his cock down your tight throat. hot tears already began to brim at your lash line as he began a steady pace, the obnoxious noise of you gagging echoing throughout your room. “mmph, good lil fuckin’ throat. you’re fuckin’ perfect y/n ‪‪❤︎‬” eren’s head tilted back in a moan, his adams apple bobbing.

he preferred his head very sloppy, and you were perfect for that. you didn’t mind the spit bubbles that foamed up at the corners of your lips, or the snot that trickled from your nose. you were fine with all of it. all just to please him. his hips stuttered when your hand reached up to toy with his balls. “fu-ck yeah, play wit’ ‘em while you suck it. that’s a good fuckin’ girl.”

his praise had your heart fluttering, and your pussy drooling with need. you were perfect for him. that’s all you could’ve asked for.

your nails dug into eren’s muscly thighs when his hips pushed forward, forcing the entirety of his cock down your throat. you suddenly felt something warm in the back of your throat, and hummed. it wasn’t until you were choking pretty hard that eren pulled out, his half had cock resting on your face. your thighs clenched together when the musky scent that was him wafted into your nose.

“heh, cute. you ready for me to fuck you now mama?”

your tongue ran along his cock, savoring the taste of him, “i love your dick ren, could stay here forever.” eren’s head tilted back as you sloppily kissed all over the base of his cock. he was fully hard once again in no time, the veins on the underside thrumming against your puffy lips.

he backed up to give you some room to get up, only for you to yank him back again. you propped your chin on his hard stomach, batting your freshly done lashes up at him. “what position you want me in renny, m’all yours please tell me what to do.”

there was that look again. that fucking look. that look where you stared at him like he was reason for your very existence. “i’ll do anything you want,” you murmured, pressing little kisses all across his abdomen. you whimpered when eren used both hands to grip your jaw, forcing your gaze at him.

“i think i might love you.”

he didn’t know what kinda fucked up shit this was but he didn’t even care, he loved it. he loved . . . you ❤︎

his pretty lil fan girl. his number one fan. someone that would kiss the ground he walked on if he asked. you were perfect.

“that’s really sweet renny, but i think you’re just high and tired,” you giggled, teeth clamping onto your bottom lip. “you sayin’ you don’t love me back baby?” eren grinned, moving one of his hands to your throat, squeezing rather roughly. he needed to hear you say it, even if you didn’t mean it.

“of course i love you ren. loved you since you first debuted, i knew i had to get my hands on you. now look at you; in my very pink room, telling me you love me because im the best you’ve ever had.”

he couldn’t even object or give snarky remark back because unfortunately you were right.

his hands moved to your shoulders, gently pushing you back.

“i may be high, and i may be a little tired, but i do know that i really like you.” his teeth nibbled on his bottom lip as his hands wandered across your naked body.

“well good. i don’t ever wanna see anything about you and other girls in the blogs again or i’ll block you ‘kay?” eren was laughing until you interrupted him saying a monotone ‘i mean it.’

he leant over you, his chain dangling over your face. his thick brows were pulled together, and if you looked close enough you could see the pout on his lips. of course he’d only see you, but the thought of getting blocked by you had his heart tightening. “i only want you to myself from now on, can you handle that superstar?”

eren gasped when your legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him closer to you. his dick sat right between your sopping folds, the tip nudging deliciously against your clit.

“fuck, yes. yes i can handle it, i can’t handle being blocked by you though. best fuckin’ pussy i’ve ever had y/n ❤︎. don’t break my heart like that,” he rocked his hips slowly, coating his cock in your essence. you had him right in the palm of your hand and god, it felt so good. “don’t make me write some corny love songs about you, because i will.”

“would that really be so bad? i wouldn’t mind having a song written about me.”

“i’ll write one for you anyway, i’ll write ten fucking songs about you and this pussy, shit,” eren’s nostrils flared the tip of his cock accidentally slid into your pussy. he couldn’t help but just bottom out completely, his balls sitting snuggly against your ass.

your mouth parted, a breathy moan slipping past your lips. “mm, do it. i dare you renny.” eren just moaned in response, his eyes fluttering shut. heaven. this was heaven.

“i will baby, i will. i pr-promise.”

each time he pulled out a loud squelch followed. you sucked the cross attached to his chain in your mouth, whimpering around the cool metal. eren settled for fast, deep thrusts, the angry tip of his cock bumping harshly into that spongy spot deep inside you. “so fuckin’ hot. you’re so fuckin’ hot,” eren was damn near panting like a dog, his tongue dangerously close to dangling out of his mouth.

your body moved up slightly with each hard thrust, your breasts bouncing wildly in his face. the sharp canine part of eren’s grill grazed your nipple, his hot tongue coming out a second later to soothe the sting. “you smell so good, y-you’re so good.” embarrassingly enough eren’s thrusts were already getting sloppy. he was close.

“are you about to cum? hm? gonna nut in my pussy ren?” all eren could do would moan, his face nuzzling itself into the crook of your neck. you sobbed out eren’s name when he pushed your knees up, the angle of his thrusts reaching deeper inside you. he licked his thumb, bringing the digit to your swollen clit.

“c’mon baby, make that pussy cum. wanna feel that shit.” your legs shook violently as you second orgasm of the night hit you. eren fucked you through it, growling out curses each time a steam of your cum hit his lower stomach. his cock slipped out ad second later ribbons of cum were painting your tummy in thick, white strands.

eren’s head fell forwards, wispy strands from his disheveled half up, half down bun tickling his forehead. “shit, m’still hard girl. you’re gonna kill me,” eren’s hands cupped your face, smushing his lips against yours in a clash of tongue and teeth.

he pulled out briefly to turn you around on your tummy. “i’m gonna borrow one of those real quick,” he murmured, tatted hand reaching above you to grab one of your many plushies. he arched your back, placing the plushie underneath the pudge of your stomach. “comfortable mama?” his nose nudged against your cheek, his lashes tickling you.

“yeah . . . put it in.” eren tapped the tip of his cock against your clit before slipping in, groaning at the warmth that welcomed him. he yanked your hair back, exposing your neck. “o-ohhh fuck,” your eyes rolled into the back of your skull when eren’s bicep hooked around your neck, putting you in the perfect chokehold. not too tight, but not too lose either. his strokes were slow, but deep, allowing you to feel every vein and ridge on his dick against your sensitive walls.

“this what you wanted the most right? always talkin’ about my muscles, you satisfied now baby?” all you could do was moan pathetically, nodding your head rapidly. “you’re g’nna make me cum again renny, y-you’re gonna make me cum!” your feet kicked wildly against the bed, tears free falling from your cheeks and onto your sheets.

eren grunted, tightening his hold on your neck, “do it.” your body thrashed beneath him, shaking violently as your orgasm hit you in intense waves. the soft cotton of your sheets was basically rubbing your clit raw, adding way more overstimulation than you needed.

eren’s thrusts were relentless, his pace never once faltering as you came. he pressed his hips snuggly against your ass, rolling his hips until you were clawing at the sheets. “keep fucking me l-like that, god yes!” eren groaned, pulling his hips all the way back before slamming back in.

“thas’ right baby, m’your god. your everything,” his teeth nibbled at your ear, licking over the shell of. ugh yes he was your everything :(( you loved him, you adored him, you were his biggest fan. you’d do anything for him if it meant you got fucked like this on a regular.

“hah! ah! ah! o-oh shittt,” you sobbed out, tears soaking your chubby cheeks. eren cursed under his breath when his dick slipped out, a stream of your cum following seconds after. you clawed at the sheets, trying to get out of his grip, but eren kept you steady, shushing your whines with kisses.

“no more renny,” you whimpered, your face nuzzling into the crook of his bicep. “ngh, you don’t mean that baby,” he cooed at you, pressing a kiss to the side of your face.

eren laid on his side, pulling you close to his chest. his heart was beating so fast, it felt like he was high. this must be what people call being ‘pussydrunk’ because he swears if he was asked to speak a full sentence he’d fail.

he lifted your thigh up, slipping his cock between your folds. your body quivered, arching against his chest. “you wanna be my girlfriend? c’mon i know you wanna say yes, just say it,” you didn’t even have time to process his words before his tip was slowly sliding in. the question must’ve been good right? you’ll just say yes.

you squeaked out a yes! when he bottomed out, your backside pushing against his pelvis. he couldn’t believe you actually said yes, he couldn’t believe he actually even asked you that. what were you doing to this poor man?

eren hiked your thigh up, starting up a fallow n’ shallow pace. his lips crashed into yours, moaning into your mouth with a scrunched up face. “we’ll figure somethin’ out, you just—just gotta be mine.”

“i will renny—hah! all i’ve ever wanted is to be yours.” your thighs clamped around eren’s wrist when you felt his fingers strum against your clit. most people would look at you like you were nuts for even accepting such an offer, but they wouldn’t understand. you’ve loved eren and his craft since he first debuted six years ago. his music got through some of the hardest times of your life and for that you were eternally grateful to him—so yes, you’ll worship the ground he walks on and love him like no other.

his free hand shimmied underneath your back, wrapping around your waist. god he was so fucking close. he needed you as close as possible.

“cum with me mama. i’m about to nut, c’mon take it, take it, take ittt,” his hips pushed up against your backside one last time, emptying his balls inside you for what won’t be the last time tonight. he just needed a breather.

your body thrashed against his as you came with a scream. eren covered your mouth, whispering filthy praises in your ear as you rode our your high. he stayed snugly inside you, caressing your stomach with light touches.

it was silent for ten minutes as you both caught your breath, eren not once loosening his grip on you, he didn’t even pull out when you turned around to face him.

“you meant what you said right? about me being your girlfriend?” eren cracked an eye open and was met with your brown ones staring right back at him. was he sure about this? i mean the man didn’t even really know you like that but . . . fuck it, why not. he shrugged, brushing his hair out of his face. “yeah, as long as we keep it on the dl for now. i got a lot—”

“that won’t work.”

eren’s brows furrowed, “what do you mean that won’t work? you’re not in charge here at the end of the day.”

two days later . . .

‘breaking news! well known musician eren yeager was recently seen out shopping in beverly hills with what looks like a new boo! my, my look at all those shopping bags, seems like this girl has got our boy whipped! we believe this is the same girl he was seen with, about a month ago, heading into a hotel in chicago. fans are buzzing like crazy trying to find out who this mystery girl is! it seems to be she has no social media, but never fear my sources are working day and night to find out who she is! until then this is . . .’

jean shut off the tv, pure anger radiating off of him. “you wanna tell me what that’s all about? who the fuck even is this girl—”

“i’m his girlfriend,” you came from around the corner, wearing nothing but one of eren’s shirts. you approached eren from behind, where he was sitting on the couch, a bored look on his face as usual. he visibly relaxed when he felt your hands massage his shoulders. “yeah, she’s right. as of two days ago we’re official.” eren turned his head to press a kiss to the top of your hand.

“eren, you still have the international leg of your tour to do! there’s no way you can focus on that with a distraction—” eren let out a long sigh, his head flopping against the back of the couch. “jean, you’re really not talking about shit i wanna hear right now.” he just wanted to spend time with you, granted you both had been holed up in his hotel room for two days, besides the random shopping trip you just had to go on.

you weren’t a fan of keep your relationship a secret, hence why you made him take your ass the most expensive strip mall you could find. you’d never shopped in a luxury store that was completely empty until eren made his security clear the area so you two could shop in peace. he had so much power over people, it turned you on a lot.

“she’s not gonna be a distraction. she’s gonna come on tour with me, and keep me company. i’d ask if was a problem, but i really don’t give a shit. i pay you entirely too much for you to be bitching at me like that.”

jean’s mouth parted, but no words came out. it wasn’t uncommon for eren to talk to him like that, but it was certainly new to have an audience watching.

you combed your fingers through eren’s hair, frowning at the annoyed look on his face. “is there anything else you wanna discuss?” eren’s ring clad finger tapped against the couch impatiently. jean looked at eren, then you, then back to eren, and back to you. “ah, no. i guess that’ll be all eren.”

“i need you to schedule me a session at the studio, m’workin’ on a new song,” eren called out just as jean was about to shut the door. “dumbass better have heard me.”

he looked up at you through his lashes, “i know i sound a little harsh, but if you’re not an asshole to that guy he’ll run you over. only reason he still has a job is because he’s damn good at it.”

you shrugged, making your way around the couch to sit on eren’s lap. you wrapped your arms around his neck, “i don’t care about none of that. now tell me about this song you’re writing! what’s it about?”

It was sweet, full, with a crisp nectarine linger to it. Like a freshly bitten apple. Made him taste the sugar of you in the very air he breathed as you breezed past him. For a moment he was frozen; confusion along with a special kind of want took over his face while he wracked his brain for what exactly you did to yourself. You looked the same, pretty n’ heavenly- sounded the same too but something….he swears he’s not crazy. But, you’re acting normal so he tries to do the same, following you to stand behind the bar while you worked. Humming softly as you flip through their records and inventory.

He doesn’t let up, almost in a trance, his eyes fixed on you as the minutes go by.

“God forbid you have anything else to do ’sides eyeball me”, you’re messing with him, trying not to grin at how much closer he’s gotten while studying you. Trying to focus on the lists and feign indifference even as he “subtly” creeps closer to you, dipping his head to trace his nose down from your ear to your chin leaving goosebumps in his wake. The way his lips ghost over the underside of your jaw make you tremble, gripping the pen in your hand that much tighter, you swallow down a breathy whine before shaking him off you. Schooling your face into a scandalized type of shock, you gasp.

“What’s gotten into you? Breathin’ down my neck like I owe you money or somethin’!”

Your fussing barely even reaches his ears and the way you try to bay him away just makes that mouthwatering scent of yours float him higher. Don’t get him wrong- you always smelled good but this was on another tab entirely.

He felt damn near tipsy…

How could you not smell you? Did the rest of you smell the same or only certain areas? Stack knows he ain’t crazy but you’re close to taking him there.

“What is that?”

The usually smooth timbre of his voice sounds rougher from his arousal, bass in his low drawl making your heart skips so hard you jolt, sheer anticipation having your nerves go haywire as you fight the slow heat licking it’s way up your stomach.

“What is what, baby?” You sound confused but he knows better- felt the way you jumped when he asked. Unfortunately, like him, you were a damn good liar and he’d need to have a lot of patience and time to get answers. Time he didn’t have because he was already fattening up in his slacks already.

“Stop playin’ w’me. You did somethin’ different today but I just can’t prove it”, his eyes narrow like that’ll help him figure it out but you’re dedicated to your (false) innocence.

“Can’t prove anything because I ain’t done anything”, riling him up as he pulls back to stare you dead in your eyes, whispering low.

“Oh I know you did.” You keep your eyes locked on his as that familiar itch burns to life inside you. Biting your lip, you lean your head back until your mouth is right up against his ear. It’s a dangerous game but that’s the fun. The thrill.

“And wouldn’t you like to know?”

You’re for sure trying to kill him. Groaning, Stack can’t help himself, taking another deep inhale of your smell, he feels his blood start to simmer. You sigh breathily, teasing him with a barely there brush of your ass against his dick. Stack freezes before nodding slowly- finally piecing it together. “You tryna get ate up ain’t you?” You try to suppress another grin but he makes it too easy. Huffing out a light laugh you shrug him off. Muttering,

“Asks the one tryin’ to eat me up..”

“What?”

“What??”

You speak almost at the same time but Stack can’t be bothered to indulge you right now, earning a delighted little moan from you when he lands a heavy smack on your ass.

From there he’s on autopilot, pressing himself firm against you and sucking bruises on the soft skin of your neck. Loud, needy gasps spill from your lips making his head spin, large hands grabbing all over you intensely while you pant and god help you when Stack purrs in your ear,

“..smell so good mamas..”

There’s a sharp pulse of warmth in your clit- like a heartbeat as you keen. Arousal laced adrenaline washing over you in waves. Stack is caught in a mix between smelling you and touching wherever he can reach and you rush to get back on track.

“S-Stack! Waiiit-!” But he’s in a world of his own, spinning you quickly to face him, muffling your less than genuine protests with his lips. Broad tongue not missing a beat- licking firmly across your teeth before dipping hotly into your mouth. You feel so good, you’re shaking. Eyes fluttering back as your hands find themselves on his wide shoulders.

“Stac- oohf!”

Huffing out when the air is knocked clean out of your chest as you’re mindlessly manhandled onto the top of the counter; dizzy from how fast he’s moving, layers of your poofy dress get thrown up around your waist before he’s hiking your legs over his shoulders, massaging greedily at the plump softness. The nerves from before were nothing compared to how they were now. Watching dazed as Stack licks his lips like a wolf, eyes steeped to dark chocolate while he presses his nose into the underside of your knee, skimming down to your ankles.

Letting out another wrecked groan, it’s just as he thought.

It’s all over you. That delicious smell.

Your pulse skyrockets when you feel your panties being tugged at, biting your lip in heated anticipation. Stack shoves his face in your chest, taking another drag of your smell and whining before lapping a fat stroke up to your neck from your cleavage, humming drunkenly as he nuzzles into you.

Now Stack has always been a wanting and wanted man. You’d seen him be both but you’ve never seen him like this- so… desperate. You were almost concerned. Stack brings his face level to yours again and just the look of him has your stomach clenching.

“What is that smell, pretty? Drivin’ me goddamn crazy..”

He grounds out, taking your mouth in another filthy kiss before you can respond. The hand tugging at your knickers end up ripping them clean off you, your gasp swallowed up by his tongue in your mouth.

That perfume might be the best 20 bucks you’ve ever spent.

When you bought it, it was only because you immediately liked the smell. Sweet, crisp, with a linger to it. Before you left to see Stack, you’d sprayed it on various points of your body- on both sides of your neck, middle of your chest, both wrists, behind both knees and ankles. You liked it so you knew Stack would love it. But this much?

Stack pulls away with your lower lip between his teeth, making you hiss- trying to catch your breath. He rises to his height, no longer bent over you as he starts to undress. Tearing off his jacket and shirt, thick muscles of his arms and chest hypnotize you before he drops to his knees, ripping a gasp from your throat when you’re yanked roughly to the edge of the counter.

“..good, smell so good…”, the words are a soft hush into your skin, almost like he’s talking to himself.

“N’ wet too..”

Shivering, you barely get the chance to prop yourself up on your elbows before he’s on you.

The first lick up your cunt has you crying. Stack feels his cock throb as your wetness coats his tastebuds, long tongue lapping up and down your pussy in hot, thorough swipes. Between your smell and your taste, it was only a matter of time until he was completely gone off you. The nasty moan he lets out shakes you to your core as your eyes water, shaky hips grinding up into his greedy maw while you sob in pleasure.

Hulking arms lock around your thighs, holding you in place as Stack suctions his mouth over your clit, working the poor nub over with his tongue. You yelp, hands shooting out to grab his thick arms, needing to ground yourself. With a sigh, Stack pops wetly off your clit, only giving you a second to gather yourself before lapping his tongue into your tight hole. Undulating that perfect fucking muscle in hard thrusts then up and down through your slit, your eyes fluttering back into your skull at the pleasure running up your spine. Wet, wrecked moans bubble freely from your mouth as Stack buries his mouth deeper into your heat. Smooching your bud in a gentle kiss before slurping it into his mouth, laving his tongue against the underside.

Oh God. Your eyes slam shut- jaw dropping in a deafening wail, manicured nails digging into his arms as you’re abruptly flung off the edge you’ve been trying so hard to hold on to, thighs tensing in his hold as you shatter.

Your back is arched to an almost painful degree, coming so hard euphoria sears through your every nerve, leaving you a mess under Stack’s tongue that doesn’t stop. Licking at you hungrily until you’re pushing at his head.

Reluctantly, he takes his mouth off you, burying his face in your inner thigh, huffing in your sugary scent like a drug. Your heart pounds as you try to catch your breath, holding yourself up on quivering arms so you can look at him. Preparing to move off the counter, you start to close your legs but Stack stops you- peppering heavy kissing all over your thighs and lower stomach.

Rekindling that heat inside you.

Making a noise of confusion, you try to move again when he stops you by pressing a kiss on your lower lips before moving to look you in the eyes. You two make quite the sight with your flushed face and his blown pupils. Cheeks dimpling as he licks his lips, the gold glinting at you while savoring your taste. You let out a shaky moan as you watch him. Fuck it being the best perfume you’ve ever bought, at this point- it was the best thing you’ve ever bought in your life and Stack’s next words confirm it.

“M’not done with you yet, sweet thing..”

And he wouldn’t be until he was bathed in you.

I’m so happy to be back I mf missed yall🥹😭heyyyyyy sistaaaas🫶🏽🫶🏽🫶🏽🫶🏽🫶🏽🥰!!

Still, no matter how tough you acted, there was something that always drew in men. It was a competition almost. Any time you walked home from the schoolhouse at age 16, you heard them talkin'. The boys. Betting on who could secure a kiss first, maybe a date.

"First one to kiss the farmer’s daughter gets braggin’ rights for life," one of ‘em would say, real cocky. Like you were a trophy instead of a person.

But you weren’t some daisy to be picked. You were wild thistle — sharp, stubborn, and grown in hard soil.

None of those boys ever made it past your front gate. One tried and ended up limping back home with a busted lip and a bruised ego. After that, they mostly kept their distance. Called you a spitfire. A man’s girl. Trouble wrapped in curls and sunburn.

And maybe they were right.

You didn’t care much for dresses, or dancing, or sitting pretty at socials. You cared about the land, about your daddy, about making it through the droughts and the hard winters. You were proud of the calluses on your hands and the dirt under your nails. You knew how to clean a gun, break a horse, and break a man’s nose if need be. You didn’t need anyone — and that scared the hell out of every suitor that came sniffin’.

Until Stack Moore.

He was the opposite of his brother, though they were both law breakers. They'd come back into town like a storm, claiming it back again when they got sick of being men of war or taking over Chicago. They brought money, they brought booze, and they regained the enemies they'd always had before.

Your daddy knew exactly what type the Smokestack twins were. That's why he was so put out the day Stack spoke to you.

It was hotter than hell that afternoon, the kind of heat that made the air shimmer off the dirt road. You were hitchin’ the mule to the wagon outside the general store, sweat rollin’ down your spine, dust clingin’ to your boots. Stack leaned against a post with a matchstick between his teeth, lookin’ like the devil dressed in Sunday black — suspenders off his shoulders, shirt unbuttoned just enough to make your throat go dry.

"Need a hand, sweetheart?" he drawled.

You didn’t answer him. Just wiped your brow and kept workin’, jaw tight, heart louder than it oughta been. You felt his eyes on you like heat from a fire. That was the first time he spoke to you.

You grunted, finally getting it hitched, before glancing up at Stack with irritated (and curious, though you wouldn't admit it) eyes.

"I got it. Somethin' I can help you with, Stack?" You responded coldly. In a moment, your daddy would be coming out of the store. He wouldn't take kindly to Stack chatting you up.

Stack smirked, slow and easy, like he had all the time in the world and not a care who saw him spending it on you. That matchstick rolled between his teeth as he looked you over, not lewd, not disrespectful — but bold. Real bold.

"Nah, darlin’. Just figured I’d say howdy," he said, voice molasses-smooth with that slick edge he and his brother hadn’t lost, even after years in the city. "Hard not to, when you’re standin’ there lookin’ like trouble in a skirt."

You narrowed your eyes. "Keep talkin’ like that, and you’ll find yourself wearin’ that matchstick in your eye."

He laughed — a warm, low sound that made something flutter deep in your belly, though you kept your scowl firm. He liked that. You could tell. The way his head tilted slightly, his eyes sharpened like he was memorizing the way your mouth twitched when you were pissed.

"I like a woman who bites," he said.

You opened your mouth to fire back, but the screen door of the store slapped shut behind you. Daddy stepped out with his purchase — a sack of flour and a bottle of tonic. His boots hit the porch with that heavy rhythm that always said someone was about to get corrected.

Stack’s smirk didn’t fade, but he straightened up. He tipped his hat slow and easy, like he wasn’t worried one bit about the man standing between him and a shallow grave.

"Afternoon, Mr. L/N," Stack said, polite as a preacher.

Your daddy didn’t respond. Just stared Stack down, eyes like steel under the brim of his weather-beaten hat. You could feel the tension crackling in the air, thick and dangerous.

"You got business here?" your daddy asked, voice flat.

"Just admirin’ the view," Stack replied, not looking away from him — but the weight of his words sat heavy between you and your daddy. Like a line drawn in the dust.

You cleared your throat, loud enough to break the moment. "We done here, Daddy?"

Your father gave Stack one more look — the kind that could kill a lesser man — before nodding to you. "Yeah. Let’s get home. Storm’s comin’."

You climbed into the wagon without another word, trying not to think about how your skin still tingled from Stack’s gaze. As the mule started off, you glanced back once, just once — and saw him watching you, arms crossed, eyes lit up like he’d just spotted a gold vein in a rock.

It was the first time Stack Moore spoke to you. And the last time you knew peace for a long while.

When you got home, Daddy cleared his throat awkwardly, cleaning his gun in the common room of the house.

"Y/N." He called to you from where you stood in the kitchen.

You paused, hands deep in the dish basin, the soapy water stinging a nick on your finger you hadn’t noticed ‘til now. His voice was gruff, but there was something under it — something tight. Wary. Protective in that way only a father could be when he knew his daughter had just caught the eye of a wildfire in a man’s body.

"Yes, sir?" you called back, wiping your hands on a dish rag as you stepped through the archway into the common room.

He didn’t look up right away. Just kept running the cloth over the barrel of his Winchester with a quiet, deliberate focus. You could tell he was turning something over in his head, chewing on it like a dog with a bone.

"Stack Moore," he finally said, like the name tasted bad. "You stay away from him."

You blinked, caught off guard by the bluntness.

"Didn’t plan on inviting him for supper," you muttered, crossing your arms.

Daddy looked up then — sharp and dead serious. "I ain’t jokin’, girl. That boy’s got blood on his hands and more comin’. His kind don’t leave nothin’ but ruin behind."

You didn’t say anything. Mostly ‘cause you weren’t sure what you wanted to say. It was the first time a man had looked at you like you were a woman and not just the farmer’s wild daughter in scuffed boots. And maybe that was dangerous. Maybe Daddy was right. But maybe you didn’t give a damn.

"I know you think you’re grown,” he went on, his voice softening a bit, “but there’s men out there who take one look at a girl like you and see a challenge. Not a future. Stack Moore’s one of ‘em."

You swallowed, throat dry. "I’m not stupid."

"I didn’t say you were. I said he’s trouble. And I’ll be damned if I let him put you in harm’s way."

Silence hung between you. Thick as molasses. You could hear the wind picking up outside, dust scratching against the shutters. Storm was comin’, alright. But it wasn’t just in the sky.

You finally nodded. "I hear you."

He held your eyes for a long moment.

"You're better off with that Boone. If you really hafta marry. He's a nice boy and ain't gonna put you out when he has his fill."

Boone was a ranch hand your daddy had hired. He wasn't unattractive, no. He was tall, strong, worked with a smile and never complained. His parents were respectful and they were fans of how your daddy did business. Boone was who you should've been with, if you gave any man a chance.

He'd been pining after you since the two of you were sixteen.

You rolled your eyes, smirking in amusement.

"You like Boone so much, why ain't you marryin' him?"

Daddy’s face went dark, like you'd just knocked over a beehive.

"I’m your father. I make the calls ‘round here."

I folded my arms and leaned against the table, matching his glare. "Ain’t no law says I gotta marry the man you pick."

He set the gun down with a heavy thud. "It ain’t about law, girl. It’s about keepin’ you safe. Boone’s steady. He don’t bring trouble like those Moore boys."

You groaned.

"I ain’t sayin’ I’m takin’ up with Stack. But don’t reckon I’m gonna be Boone’s bride just ‘cause you want it."

He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "You’re stubborn as a mule, just like your mama."

You knew that was the final word.

But that night, long after the lights were out and the crickets had taken over the silence, you found yourself sittin’ on the edge of your bed, fingers twitchin’, heart restless. Because even though you’d said you understood, and even though you knew what kind of man Stack Moore was…

You also knew you weren’t the kind of girl who turned her head away from fire.

Your friend Lizzie had to beg you to go out.

"I swear, Y/N, one night won’t kill you," she said, tugging at your arm as you rolled your eyes. "You need to dance. Laugh. Hell, even just drink something that ain’t water or dust."

You weren’t exactly the type for blues clubs or lipstick-stained whiskey glasses, but Lizzie had that kind of persistence that wore you down like river water over stone. So by the time the sun dipped low and the sky bled pink, you were dressed — not dolled up like the city girls, but enough to turn a few heads in town: a dark skirt that hugged your hips, boots polished cleaner than usual, and your wild curls pinned just enough to look like you tried.

Club Juke was loud, smoky, and packed to the rafters. Lights glowed like sin on velvet, blues players' moaned from the corner stage, and the air buzzed with liquor and secrets. You followed Lizzie in, your fingers hooked into the belt loop of her dress, and tried not to flinch when a man brushed too close or looked too long.

You made it to the bar and ordered something you didn’t even hear over the noise — some whiskey drink served in a chipped glass. Lizzie had already pulled a fella onto the dance floor, leaving you with a half-sip of burn down your throat and the sudden awareness that someone was watching you.

You didn’t have to look far.

There he was. Stack.

Sitting in a corner booth like he owned the place (because he did), sleeves rolled, collar unbuttoned, smoke from a lit cigar curling around his jaw. His eyes were on you, unmoving. He didn’t smile. Didn’t wave. Just looked like he’d found exactly what he came here for.

Your pulse jumped. Damn it all.

You turned back to the bar, heart thudding. Maybe if you ignored him, he’d —

A warm voice slid in behind your ear like a sin on Sunday morning.

"Well now," Stack drawled, low and slow, "ain’t you a sight. Didn’t expect to see you in a place like this."

You didn’t turn around. Just took another sip of your drink, ignoring the heat rolling off him in waves.

"Didn’t come for you," you said coolly.

He chuckled. "Maybe not. But I figure fate don’t give a damn."

He moved beside you, close enough that your elbows brushed. You could smell leather, smoke, and something sharper — danger, maybe. He rested his forearms on the bar and nodded to the bartender.

"Two of whatever she’s drinkin’."

You shot him a glare. "What’re you doin’, Stack?"

He looked at you then — really looked — and for a moment, the noise of the club faded under his steady gaze.

"Tryin’ to figure out why a girl raised to fear me keeps lookin’ like she’s itchin’ to find out what makes me so damn interesting."

You swallowed.

Then, you fixed the usual glare back onto your face.

"Well, what the hell makes me so interesting? Everyone with a dick in this town can't look away."

Stack barked a quiet laugh, low and raspy, like he wasn’t expecting you to come back that sharp — but damn if he didn’t like it. He leaned in just a hair closer, eyes flicking from your mouth to your eyes and back again, that grin of his growing just a little wider, a little darker.

"What makes you interesting?" he echoed, voice like smoke. "You walk into a room like you own the land under everyone’s feet. You don’t smile unless you mean it, and you don’t flinch at a man like me." He tilted his head, still watching you. "That kinda thing makes folks look. Makes ‘em wonder."

You crossed your arms, hip cocked, not letting him get the upper hand. "You mean it makes ‘em bet. Run their mouths. Act like they got a chance."

Stack shrugged. "Let ‘em. Boys bet. Men watch. I’m just here enjoyin’ the view."

You scoffed. "You’re all the same."

His expression shifted then — just a flicker of something deeper beneath the charm. He leaned in again, but this time his voice dropped lower, real low, just for you.

"No, darlin’. If I were like them, I’d already be braggin’ about what I could do to you. Not sittin’ here waitin’ to see what you’ll let me do."

That shut you up for a second. Long enough for the air between you to grow thick and heavy.

Before you could fire back, the music kicked into a new number — a slow, sultry blues rhythm that rolled across the club like honey.

Stack held out a hand. "Dance with me."

You looked at his hand like it might bite you.

"I don’t dance."

He smirked. "Then just stand close and sway. I promise I bite softer than I look."

You stared at him, heart thudding somewhere stupid.

And then, without knowing why, you placed your hand in his.

His palm was warm. His grip was gentle. And your daddy’s voice was nowhere in your head when Stack pulled you onto the floor like he’d been waitin’ his whole damn life for this.

The floor didn’t feel real under your boots.

Stack's hand rested firm against the small of your back, pulling you close — but not too close. Just enough to feel the heat rollin' off him in waves, enough to smell the faint scent of whiskey and smoke on his collar. Your fingers hovered just barely on his shoulder, stiff at first, like you were afraid of giving in.

"You’re stiff as a fence post," he murmured against your temple, voice rough and warm. "Ain’t nobody lookin’ to bite."

"You just told me you were," you shot back, eyes narrowing even as you swayed to the rhythm.

That earned a quiet chuckle from him — one that rumbled in his chest and traveled straight through you.

The music curled around the two of you like a fog, blues guitar crooning through the haze of cigar smoke and perfume. Other dancers swayed nearby, but none quite like you and Stack. You moved like magnets pulling in, fighting it, pulling in again. A war with no guns — just glances, breath, and the occasional accidental brush of leg against leg.

His thumb stroked a small, deliberate circle at the back of your waist. You stiffened — just slightly — and he caught it.

"You alright, spitfire?" he asked, voice a low purr. "Ain’t used to men touchin’ you, or just not used to likin’ it?"

You glared up at him, lips parting to throw fire — but the words got stuck somewhere between your pride and the warmth blooming beneath your ribs.

"…You think just ‘cause you talk smooth, I’m gonna fall at your feet?" you finally snapped.

Stack leaned in, close enough that his breath kissed the edge of your jaw.

"No," he said. "I think you’ll fight me every inch of the way. And I like a fight."

The tension snapped taut between you, so tight it hummed. His hand slid just a breath lower on your back. Your fingers curled tighter into his shirt. You weren’t smiling, but you weren’t pulling away, either.

"I ain’t your conquest," you muttered.

"No," Stack said, eyes locked to yours like a vow. "You’re the kind of woman a man earns. Or dies tryin’."

The music slowed to a crawl. The last long note of a saxophone kissed the silence.

Neither of you moved.

You didn’t know who leaned in first — but suddenly your face was inches from his. Lips barely apart. Breath tangled.

"Lord.. If you ain't the devil."

His mouth curved just slightly — not a smile, not quite — something darker. Hungrier.

"Then what’s that make you, sweetheart?" he murmured, breath brushing your lips. "The lamb wanderin’ into the fire… or the flame that keeps draggin’ me back to hell?"

You blinked up at him, your heart thudding so loud you swore the whole club could hear it.

Everything inside you screamed to pull away — to do what you’d always done when boys got too close, when their hands wandered and their eyes lingered too long. But Stack wasn’t like those boys. He didn’t leer. He didn’t plead.

He waited.

Like a man sure of the storm and patient enough to let it come to him.

Your voice came low. Dangerous.

"I ain’t no lamb. And I sure as hell ain’t chasin’ you."

He laughed — a quiet, genuine sound that rolled through his chest.

"No," he said again, like he was committing it to memory. "I'm chasin' you, baby."

Then his hand slid up — not low, not greedy — just firm and reverent, fingers skimming the side of your jaw like he was feeling the edges of something sacred.

"And I’m tellin’ you now," he added, voice dropping like molasses in your ear. "You keep lookin’ at me like that… I will find out what you taste like when you stop pretending you hate me."

Before you could bite back, before you could even think, the club doors burst open again —

And Boone’s voice came, loud and panicked: "Y/N! What the hell are you doin’?!"

The spell shattered.

You jerked back like burned, your spine stiffening, eyes snapping toward the entrance.

Boone’s chest heaved, face red and soaked in sweat. Eyes darted from you to Stack, and the rage built fast — like a match tossed in dry brush.

Stack turned lazily toward him, jaw twitching. The charming smirk faded into something else. Something sharp.

"You know," he said, stepping just slightly in front of you, “if he was any kinda gentleman, he wouldn't swear at a lady."

Boone didn’t flinch. Just pointed a finger, shaking with fury. "Your daddy’s gonna hear ‘bout this. And when he does, he’ll bury that bastard himself."

Your breath caught.

"Boone, it's—"

"Oh hell no. This ends now."

You stiffened, pulling away from Stack slightly. A glare rose to your face.

"You think you control anything I do? You're daddy's ranch hand, you ain't his informant, and you definitely ain't my husband, so I don't reckon you should be telling me what ends now."

Boone's jaw dropped.

"You know this is against his damn wishes. He wants you with me, not with Stack Moore."

Stack smiled, his gold grill glinting in the light of the juke.

"She don't want you, Boone Jones. Hell," he snorted, stepping forward. "She don't even really want me. I suggest you get to movin' before my brother and I toss you out this juke."

Boone’s eyes flashed, muscles tightening like coiled steel. "You got a real mouth on you, Stack. But don’t think for a second I’m scared of you or your brother."

He stepped forward, the heat between them crackling like a storm about to break.

You swallowed hard, heart pounding. The tension was thick enough to slice through, and neither man was backing down.

Stack’s grin twisted, teeth flashing like daggers. "Well then, looks like we got ourselves a showdown. You ready to back that up, Boone?"

Boone faltered for a moment. He spotted the gun on Stack's hip, glinting under his jacket. He was torn. But eventually, he turned away from the two of you.

"Get home, Y/N. I'm warnin' you. Your daddy'll be out lookin' for you soon as I tell him this shit."

With that, Boone spat on the floor and walked out.

The jukebox sputtered a slow country tune as Boone’s heavy footsteps faded into the night. Stack turned to you, smirking like he’d just won a war without firing a shot.

"Well, looks like the ranch hand knows when to fold ‘em."

You stood frozen, the weight of Boone’s warning settling deep in your chest.

Stack’s voice softened, almost mockingly gentle. "Now, tell me… what’re you gonna do with all this heat you’re sittin’ on?"

Your eyes burned with quiet defiance, but inside, a storm was brewing — one that wouldn’t be settled so easily.

Without another word, the defiance and want burning in your chest boiled over. You pulled Elias Moore into a crushing kiss, ruffling his suit jacket.

Stack’s smirk faltered for just a heartbeat, a flicker of surprise flashing behind his gold teeth. His hand lifted slowly, fingers brushing the side of your jaw with a teasing, deliberate lightness that sent a shiver down your spine. His voice dropped, low and dangerous, like a velvet promise edged with steel.

"Careful, baby. You’re playin’ with fire."

But you didn’t pull away. Instead, your breath hitched, and your heartbeat thundered in your ears like a wild stallion breaking free. The air between you thickened, charged with a heat that wasn’t just from the summer night or the sticky tension in the jukebox’s flickering neon glow. It was raw, electric, and impossible to ignore.

Your fingers curled into the lapel of his jacket, tugging him closer, hungry for the heat that radiated off his body. The scent of leather, musk, and something uniquely Stack invaded your senses. Your lips pressed harder against his, demanding more, needing more. His hands found your waist, strong and possessive, pulling you flush against him until there was no space left — only the desperate dance of two bodies claiming their own wild territory.

His mouth moved over yours with fierce intention, teasing and tasting, trailing a path of fire down your neck. You arched against him, breath mingling, every nerve alight. The weight of Boone’s warning dissolved somewhere in the back of your mind, drowned out by the thunderous storm between you and Stack.

Stack’s voice, rough and low, was a whisper against your skin. "You gonna be my woman. One way or another."

His hands slid lower, fingers digging into the curve of your hips, grounding you even as your pulse raced with reckless abandon. You tugged at the buttons of his shirt, exposing the warm skin beneath, your nails grazing, marking. Every touch was a challenge, every breath a promise.

Your lips parted in a silent plea, and Stack answered, his tongue tracing the line of your jaw, down to the swell of your collarbone. The heat in your chest ignited into a blaze, scorching and sweet. It wasn’t just passion — it was war, desire, defiance, and something dangerously close to surrender.

The air thickened, charged and heavy with all the words neither of you dared say. His fingers tightened on your hips, pulling you impossibly closer, as if he wanted to press you into him and make sure you couldn’t slip away. Your hands trembled slightly, caught between the urge to push him away and the desperate craving to keep this fire alive.

Stack’s breath hitched as his mouth dipped lower, kissing the hollow at your throat, leaving a trail of heat that seared through your skin. Your fingers tangled in the coarse fabric of his shirt, dragging it open just enough to feel the steady thump of his heart beneath your touch. Every beat was a promise, wild and relentless.

That night, you thought you'd be in wicked trouble with your daddy.

You got home and he was sitting in his chair, rifle by his side. There was no glare. No anger. No fight. Just disappointment.

His eyes met yours — quiet, heavy, like the weight of every unspoken word between you.

"Boone stopped by. Said you was almost kissin' Stack in the back of his juke joint. That the truth?"

You froze in the doorway, the screen creaking shut behind you. Your boots felt heavy against the floorboards.

"Is that the truth? I won't ask again." he asked again, voice like gravel and smoke, worn down from years of silence that meant more than shouting ever could.

You swallowed, but your throat was dry. "Yes, sir."

Your daddy looked away then, toward the window. The moonlight spilled across the hardwood like spilled milk, cold and pale. He didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t even shift in his chair.

“Didn’t raise you to chase heat just ‘cause it burns bright.”

You stepped further inside, your heart thudding in your chest. “It ain’t just heat.”

He turned back to you, slow and steady, the way storms roll in without hurry. "That boy’s trouble, Y/N. His people bring it like flies bring rot. You think Stack Moore gives a damn about you come winter? When the crops are dry and the nights are long?"

“I ain’t askin’ for your blessing,” you said, quietly. “But I ain’t askin’ for forgiveness, either.”

His jaw worked, clenched and tight. The rifle stayed at his side, but his hands curled on the armrests like he was gripping the weight of every fear a father could carry.

"You know I’d ride to hell for you, girl." "I know."

A beat. A breath. The porch creaked under the weight of the wind.

"Then don’t make me bury you for someone who wouldn’t ride back. If you think Stack Moore is worth it, I can't stop ya," he asserted wisely. "But he better be. Because if a single tear drops to this floor and he's responsible for it, I'm buryin' him. And his brother."

Your breath hitched, but you didn’t let it show.

He wasn’t threatening. He was promising.

That old chair creaked as he leaned forward, forearms braced on his knees, eyes pinning you like a hawk pins its prey.

"You understand me, girl?" His voice was low, but there was thunder in it — a quiet kind of rage built on love and fear and the kind of heartbreak only a father can carry.

You nodded, chin up even though your chest was tight. "I understand."

He let out a long breath through his nose, like he’d been holding it for years.

"Then go on to bed. And think real hard ‘bout the kind of man you’re givin’ your name to. 'Cause once you do… you don't get to take it back."

You stood there for a moment longer — the screen door groaning open behind you again, the wind pushing against your back like even the night was trying to warn you.

But you didn’t look back.

The next day, Stack stopped by the ranch, as if he was askin' for a gun to go off towards his head. You were out back, tending to the horses, brushing your favorite tenderly.

The horse, Annie was her name, blew air out of her nose, as if she knew trouble was approaching. You cooed at her.

"Settle down, pretty girl. Ain't nothin' comin' to get you."

But even as you said it, your eyes flicked toward the dust trail creeping down the long dirt drive — slow and deliberate. A dark car. Stack’s.

Annie shifted under your hand, hooves stamping once against the earth. You didn’t blame her. You felt the same tight pull in your chest. That mix of anger and ache, nerves and want, all tangled together like barbed wire.

Stack stepped out like he owned the goddamn world. Boots still dirty from whatever hellhole he'd walked through last, and that cocky tilt to his mouth like he'd slept just fine while the storm he stirred brewed all night long.

He spotted you in the paddock, and his smirk deepened like he’d expected a bullet and got a welcome mat instead.

You didn’t wave. Didn’t call out.

Just kept brushing Annie’s side like you weren’t burning from the inside out.

Stack leaned on the fence, one arm slung over the top rail, eyes fixed on you like you were the only thing that ever moved slow in his world.

"You didn’t call," he said, voice low and teasing. "Thought maybe Boone talked you outta me."

You looked up then, slow and measured.

"No one talks me outta anything, Stack. Least of all a man who runs when daddy’s rifle’s on the porch."

That knocked the smirk clean off his face for a second. Then he chuckled — slow, deep.

"Figured I’d come back ‘round today. Let your old man know I ain’t runnin’. I’m standin’."

You shook your head, a bitter little smile tugging at your lips.

"He already knows. Question is… do you?"

Stack’s jaw twitched. His eyes dropped to your hands on the horse — the way they moved, firm but gentle. Like you could break things and fix them all the same.

He straightened off the fence.

"I ain’t scared of your daddy," he said. "And I ain't here for a quick trip to the sheets. You're the typa woman worth marryin'."

You froze.

Annie huffed beside you, but you barely heard her over the rush of blood in your ears. Stack’s words hit you like a hammer to the ribs — not because you didn’t believe him, but because deep down… maybe you did.

Still, you kept your hands busy, brushing through Annie’s mane like she was the only thing keeping you grounded.

"You don’t even know what marryin’ me means, Stack Moore," you said quietly. "It ain’t just Sunday dresses and kissin’ under porch lights. It’s long winters and hard land and family that don’t forget where you came from."

He stepped into the paddock without asking, boots crunching over the straw and dirt. That alone told you something — Stack had never waited for an invitation in his life.

"I know it won’t be easy," he said, stopping just a few feet from you. "I know your daddy don’t think I’m good enough. Hell, maybe I ain’t. But I know this — I’d rather fight every damn day for your heart than spend a single one without it."

Your hand paused on Annie’s shoulder. For the first time, you looked at him — really looked.

There was no grin now. No sharp teeth. Just a man, standing there with his scars and swagger stripped down to something real.

"You’re serious," you said, more to yourself than him.

"I’ve been in fights I ain’t walked away from. I’ve stared down the barrel more times than I can count. But you?" He stepped closer, voice low and steady. "You’re the first thing that’s ever made me scared to lose."

Your chest tightened.

Goddamn him.

Because you wanted to believe it. Wanted to throw your arms around him, take him in the barn, and kiss the past right off his mouth. But you’d learned too young that want didn’t make a man stay. Promises were easy when the sun was out — it was the nights that told the truth.

So you swallowed hard and said the only thing you could.

"Then don’t say you want me, Stack. Show me."

His eyes flickered, something fierce and warm lighting in them.

"I intend to, darlin’," he said. "Every damn day. Starting now."

And when he reached for your hand, you let him take it. Just for a moment.

Just long enough to remember how it felt.

He raised it to his mouth. Kissed it gently, if Stack Moore was even capable of being gentle.

"Now.. Take me inside to see your daddy. I'm sure we can find somethin' to agree on. Gotta get along before I ask for the blessin'."

You snorted, tying Annie up and kicking his boot with your own.

"It ain't that easy. You've got to court me before you marry me, and even then, you gotta impress daddy."

Stack chuckled low in his chest, the sound rich like molasses and twice as thick with trouble.

"Darlin’, I didn’t think anything about you would be easy," he said, falling in step beside you as you started toward the house. "Hell, if you were, I wouldn’t be out here riskin’ a shotgun sermon and a boot up my ass."

You cut him a sideways glance, amused despite yourself. "You’ll get more than a boot if you don’t stop runnin’ that mouth."

He grinned, flashing that infamous gold tooth like a warning sign. "That mouth’s gonna be the reason you marry me, just you wait."

You stopped at the bottom of the steps, boots crunching in the dirt. Stack did too, waiting for your lead. Waiting, you realized, for your say-so — and that was rare.

"You serious about this?" you asked, voice lower now. No teasing. No fire. Just the honest question of a woman who knew how easily hearts cracked under pressure.

He nodded once. No swagger this time. Just steel and heat.

"I want a wife. I want babies. I wanna hang my guns up until I need 'em. And I want you. So, little lady, let's go."

It was one of them hot-ass, Southern block parties where everybody came out fresh — twists crisp, lashes long, t-shirts tight and music loud. The pavement still held heat from the day and the air smelled like smoke, and sweat. You had on your short shorts, gold bamboo hoops, and your feet were hurting from the cute sandals you swore up and down you wouldn’t regret buying.

You was posted on the porch with a red cup full of Hennessy and your cousin Chey when the twins pulled up.

Smoke and Stack Moore.

You didn’t need nobody to say their names — you could feel it when they hit the corner. That street just got quiet for a second. Not because they was famous or anything…but because they were the kind of trouble everybody respected. The kind you don’t look at too long.

The kind you don’t look at too long. Stack had on all black — fitted tee stretching over muscle and tattoos, gray sweats hanging low, and a thick rope chain swinging like it had a mind of its own.

Smoke walked a step beside him, grill glinting, eyes cold like always.

But Stack?

Stack’s eyes landed on you.

And baby, you smiled.

You dipped your chin and sipped slow, pretending like your pulse ain’t trip over itself, pretending like your legs ain’t weaken the second y’all locked eyes.

He stared hard, too — like he was counting every gold fleck in your eyes. Like he saw past your lip gloss, past the hoops, past the good-girl act you wrapped around yourself.

And you slipped.

“He fine as hell,” you muttered to Chey under your breath. Just loud enough to blame the liquor if anybody heard.

Chey choked. “Girl —!”

Too late.

Tyree, your hot-headed, too-much-of-a-gangsta older brother, was walking up with Kash, your older brother-slash-bodyguard.

Tyree squinted. “Who fine?”

You blinked. “…the ribs.”

“Yeah,” Kash muttered, side-eyeing the twins, “say that again and see what happen.”

You said it one time. One time.

And your life ain’t been peaceful since.

See, your brothers were deep in that street shit. You wasn’t. You wanted no parts of it — hell, you ran a salon. You made girls feel pretty, lined up kids before their first day of school, did mamas’ curls before church.

You was soft life. But your blood? That was Tyree and Kash.

And the Moore twins?

They were opps.

Not “arguing on the internet” opps.

Not “we got problems” opps.

You was talking blood-on-the-sidewalk type of history. Years of tension. Men dead. Streets painted red. Your family ain’t even say their names in full. Just “them Moore boys” like they was a curse.

But still…

Still…

You looked at Stack every time you saw him.

You flirted bold when your brothers weren’t watching. Called him “trouble” with a smirk. Laughed when he said things you shouldn’t let slide. One time at a car wash pop-up, you even let him feed you a mango snow cone and sucked the juice off your thumb while holding eye contact.

“I’m not scared of you,” you’d whispered.

“Yeah, but you should be,” he said, licking his lips.

He never touched you. Never crossed a line. But he looked at you like he wanted to.

And that’s what made it worse.

Because if you touched him?

You ain’t know who’d kill who first — your brothers or his.

Back at the block party, Stack walked past, slow as ever. You felt him before you saw him. He smelled like wood smoke and something sweet. A cologne you couldn’t name.

You turned your head and —

There.

He caught your eyes again. Smiled. That little cocky tilt of his head, like he knew.

And you?

You let your eyes travel down. Chest. Waist. Print.

And back up.

You bit your lip.

He shook his head.

Tyree grabbed your shoulder like he could see sin on your face.

“Fix your face, girl.”

“I am,” you said sweetly. “You fix yours.”

The night rolled on. Music blasting. You danced with Chey, with a few boys you didn’t care about. All the while, Stack was watching. Sitting on a car hood across the lot, cooling in a black durag, legs spread, licking a lollipop like he ain’t give a damn about nobody else breathing.

Your heart raced, but you knew the rules.

You wasn’t fucking that man.

You couldn’t.

Your brothers would kill him.

And then kill you.

So you played the game.

You kept flirting.

Kept pretending.

Kept aching.

Two nights later

The block was quiet. Too quiet.

It was one of them sticky nights — when the humidity sat heavy on your skin and the streetlights buzzed like they was tired of burning. The No Love Beauty Bar sign was still glowing soft in your window as you swept the last bit of hair into the dustpan. The smell of mango oil and flat iron heat still lingered in the air, soft and familiar.

You glanced at the clock — 9:37 PM.

Late, but not unusual.

You closed the shop alone all the time. Had the routine down to a rhythm — wipe the chairs, count the cash, lock the front, leave out the back. You moved through it mindlessly, humming Summer Walker under your breath with your slides scraping the tile.

Until you saw him.

At first, it was just a shadow. A shape hunched outside your front window, head down, arms resting on knees.

Then the streetlight caught the shine of a chain.

And you froze.

You knew that silhouette. That slouch. That stillness.

Stack.

What the hell —?

You inched closer, peeking through the blinds, heart lurching straight into your throat.

He was bleeding.

T-shirt ripped near the shoulder, blood spreading like a slow leak. His arm dangled loose, and his jaw was clenched like he was holding pain between his teeth. But his eyes? They found you fast.

Like he felt you coming.

You yanked the door open.

“What the fuck are you doing here?”

His head lifted slow, and even in pain, he had the nerve to smirk.

“Hey, pretty.”

“You bleeding on my concrete, Elias.”

“Yeah.” He coughed. “Couldn’t think of nowhere else to go.”

You stood there, halfway between slamming the door or dragging him inside.

“This a setup? One of my brothers out here? You tryna get me killed?”

He laughed, but it turned into a wince.

“Baby, if I wanted to get you killed, I wouldn’t be knockin’ on your damn salon door.” He hissed, leaned back against the wall. “I just need a minute. I’ll go.”

You stared at him. Your jaw locked, nails digging into your palm.

Then you muttered, “You dumb as fuck.”

And opened the door wider.

The bell above the door jingled as you helped him in — one arm around your shoulder, the other limp, body heavy and warm and bleeding all over your damn floor.

He stumbled a little. “Damn. You strong, huh?”

“Shut up.”

You led him to the break room couch in the back, the one your girls took naps on between clients. You grabbed a towel, peroxide, and a mini first aid kit from the cabinet.

He groaned as he leaned back.

“Take your shirt off.”

“Damn, buy me dinner first?”

“Stack.”

He chuckled low, and started peeling off his shirt — slow, careful, muscles flexing with every hiss. You tried not to look. But your eyes betrayed you. They always did with him.

His body was all bruises and chocolate-brown skin, ink swirling down his ribs and over his chest. A bullet graze near the shoulder — a bit deep, but bleeding steady. You pressed the alcohol drenched towel to it hard.

“Shit —” he groaned.

“You gon’ cry?”

“You gon’ kiss it better?”

You rolled your eyes, but your hands stayed soft. Your fingers trembled slightly as you poured peroxide and wiped him clean.

Silence fell.

Except it wasn’t silence.

It was his breath. Heavy. Real.

It was the closeness — his legs spread wide, yours between them, tension so thick you could taste it.

You glanced up. His eyes were already on you.

Always were.

“You need to go,” you whispered.

“I will.”

“When?” You tilted your head.

“…Soon.”

Your hand paused against his chest. You swallowed.

“My brothers ever find out you stepped foot in here —”

“I know.”

“They’ll kill you.”

He stared at you.

“You care?”

You hesitated.

“…No.”

Stack laughed low, the sound raspier now. “You such a bad liar, pretty.”

“I’m not doing this with you.”

“Yeah, you are,” he murmured, eyes burning into yours. “You been doin’ it. All them looks. All them little games. We both know this. You act like I don’t see you.”

“You ain’t supposed to,” you whispered.

“Oh - But I do.”

He reached up with his good hand. Brushed a curl from your cheek. Touched you like you was something delicate — like he ain’t just walk in bleeding and cursed.

Like you was the only soft thing he had left.

“You so damn pretty,” he said.

“You so damn stupid,” you whispered back.

The moment pressed, thick and dangerous.

If you leaned in, you wouldn’t stop.

If you kissed him, the line would blur forever.

So instead?

You stepped back.

“You got ten minutes. Then you’re gone.”

He leaned back on the couch with a sigh, eyes on you the whole way out.

But before you turned the corner, he said —

“Thank you, baby.”

Three nights later

You wasn’t even supposed to be there.

But Chey begged.

And your brothers were out of town, handling “business” in Atlanta.

So you slipped on a little dress, sprayed too much perfume, and told yourself you was just going out for drinks, not trouble.

That was a lie. A sweet one. A soft one.

Because the moment you stepped into Sable, that dark red-lit club two neighborhoods over, you felt him.

Before you saw him.

You felt him.

As always.

The music was up loud — bass sliding down your spine, fog machines in the corners making the lights blur soft. Your curls were piled high, your gloss was thick, and the dress you had on? Baby pink. Tight. Strapless. Short. Every curve of your body humming in the heat.

Chey handed you a shot. “To being bad bitches with no brothers in sight!”

You clinked and downed it.

That Henny kissed your soul before it burned.

You was four shots in when you saw him.

Stack.

Leaning on the wall near VIP, chain thick, teeth shining when he grinned. His eyes landed on you like he expected you to show up. Like he wanted you to. Like the club was his trap and you walked right into it.

You tried to look away.

You failed. Obviously.

You danced with Chey first, swaying slow, arms around her shoulders, letting the liquor and beat melt your worries. But every time you turned your head?

Stack. Watching.

Stack. Licking his lips.

Stack. Sipping brown liquor from a lowball glass, jaw tight, smirking.

You gave in.

You always did with him.

By the fifth drink, you made your way across the club, hips swaying on purpose, fingers grazing his waist as you passed him.

He caught your hand.

Pulled you close.

You didn’t resist.

His mouth brushed your ear. Shit, you wanted that mouth kissing all over your neck.

“You look good, pretty.”

“You owe me,” you whispered, lips brushing his jaw. “Bled all over my damn couch.”

Stack smirked. “Let me make it up to you then.”

You said nothing.

Just licked your lips and led him through the back hall like a woman on a mission.

A Storage Room…a fucking storage room - Jesus Christ.

Low lights. Locked door. Concrete floors and bass from the club thumping through the walls like a heartbeat.

Not exactly the most romantic place to fuck the man you’ve been wanting to fuck for the first time.

You pressed him against the wall and smiled up at him, heart racing, breath shallow.

“You shouldn’t be in here with me.”

“I know.”

“You the enemy.”

“So are you.”

“…You like that?”

Stack leaned down slow, face inches from yours. “I like you.”

Then his lips were on yours.

Hard. Hungry. Heavy.

Like he was starving and you were the first thing he could taste.

You moaned into his mouth and kissed him back just as bad. Your hands curled into his shirt, tugging him closer. His hands gripped your waist like he had every right to, like he forgot who your brothers were, like you weren’t forbidden fruit.

“You drunk?” he murmured against your lips.

You grinned. “A little.”

“You freaky when you drunk?”

“…Maybe.”

He groaned, lips brushing your neck. “Goddamn.”

You pushed him onto the little loveseat in the corner, climbed on his lap, thighs spreading around him like you been dreaming of this — and baby, you had.

Your lips found his again. Slow. Deep. You kissed him like he was already yours. Then slid down to his neck, lips pressing soft under his jaw, then sucking just below his ear.

Stack hissed through his teeth, low and deep. “Shit, girl…”

“You owe me,” you whispered, reminding him once more, mouth still on him.

He let his hands roam — slow, big palms smoothing over your hips, up your back, gripping you like he was scared you’d disappear.

“Say the word,” he whispered, voice rough.

You didn’t say anything.

You just kept kissing down his throat, trailing your lips lower while your fingers tangled in that chain around his neck.

His hands slid back down. One on your hip. The other…

Slipped under your dress.

It kept going.

Past the panties.

You gasped when his fingers slid through your folds — slick, slow, deep.

Stack sucked in a breath through his teeth, the muscles in his jaw tight as hell. “Damn, baby…”

You clenched around nothing, thighs twitching.

His fingers stayed there, just resting between your folds, feeling how soaked you were, how hot it was — like your body had been waiting for him.

“Drunk lil freak,” he mumbled, smirking, voice dark. “I barely touched you.”

You bit your lip.

Didn’t answer.

Didn’t need to.

He already knew.

Stack brought his fingers up slow — wet, glistening in the dim red light — and pressed them against your bottom lip.

You parted your mouth.

He slid those same fingers right onto your tongue.

“Suck.”

And you did.

Wrapped your lips right around them, moaned low, let your tongue swirl like you was practicing for what you really wanted. You looked him dead in his eyes as you did it, cheeks hollowing just enough to make that man groan

“Shit, girl…”

He pulled his hand back and kissed you filthy — like you belonged to him, like he ain’t give a damn about your brothers, about rules, about nothing but you right here, right now.

And then?

You moved.

Lifted up, grabbed his belt, and undid it slow while still straddling him. He let you, hands gripping your hips tight, breathing like he was losing control.

When you pulled him out, your eyes widened just a little.

Because — lord.

He was thick. Dark. Heavy in your hand.

“I—”

“Yeah,” he cut in low, cocky. “You see it.”

You ain’t say nothing else. Just shifted your panties to the side and sunk down slow.

“Oh — ha, Stack —”

He groaned, head falling back.

Your hips stopped when he bottomed out.

Thick and deep. Stretching you so good.

Your nails dug into his shoulders, and your mouth fell open. “Oh my god —”

“Feel that?” he whispered. “That’s all you, pretty. All you.”

And then?

You started to ride.

Slow at first.

Lil rolls of your hips, his hands ‘guidin you, mouth kissing every inch of your neck. You bounced just a little — his hands grabbing your ass, pressing you down deeper.

“Stack — Stack…”

You moaned his name over and over, like a chant, like a prayer.

He cursed low, bucking up into you, matching your rhythm. “Don’t say my name like that…”

You did it again.

“Stack…”

He slapped your ass hard, gritted his teeth. “You tryna make me lose my mind in this damn club?”

But you didn’t stop. You couldn’t.

The way he filled you? Thick, pulsing, dragging against your walls like he was made to fit inside you. That type of deep stroke that made your eyes roll back. That good hood dick you always said you’d stay away from.

Too late now.

You started bouncing faster, your moans louder.

Skin slapping. Lip ‘bitin. Nails on skin.

“Fuck — fuck, girl—”

He gripped the back of your neck and kissed you hard, tongues tangling, breath shared. His other hand slid between your legs, thumb brushing your clit just right.

You jerked.

“Right there?”

“Yes — please, right there —”

“Tell me who pussy this is.”

Shit — it was his now.

You couldn’t lie.

Couldn’t fake a thing.

“Yours, Stack…it’s yours…”

He smirked.

Started stroking up into you, harder, faster, watching your body shake on top of his.

You let your head roll back.

Your moans echoed in that room — sweet, filthy sounds.

You was gone.

So gone.

And when your walls squeezed tight, trembling all over him?

He knew.

He held your waist still, let you ride it all the way out, let you come deep on him, slow and heavy, thighs shaking.

Your body was done.

You were done.

Or so you thought…

You collapsed against his chest, breathing heavy, legs weak from riding him slow, deep, and nasty. His hands gripped your waist like he owned it, face buried in your neck, both of y’all sweaty and stuck together in that small, locked storage room.

But Stack didn’t move.

Didn’t lift you off.

Didn’t let you go.

Instead?

His fingers dug in.

His lips touched your ear.

And he whispered low, voice dark and sticky:

“Nah, pretty. Keep going.”

You blinked, still panting.

“Stack—”

“I said keep going. You not done ‘til I say so.”

And baby, that’s when you knew you was in trouble.

You tried to move — hips lifting just a little — but he pulled you back down with a groan, grinding you on him slow.

“Mmmph —”

You shifted, walls fluttering from the aftershock of that orgasm still rolling through you.

He was still hard inside you. Still deep. That slow, thick stroke that reached so far you felt it in your belly.

“You got one more in you,” he muttered. “Don’t you.”

You whimpered. “I’m tryna — shit — it’s too much…”

“You can take it,” he smirked, licking into your mouth before pulling back. “You took it once, you gon’ do it again.”

He moved his hips up.

Deep.

You huffed, grabbing onto his shoulders for balance.

Stack held you steady, lips brushing your jaw. “Bounce on it.”

“Say please.” You smiled lightly.

“Please, pretty.”

You obeyed.

Slow at first — hips rolling in little circles, rising and falling, his dick dragging right across that spot that made your toes curl. The overstimulation was real — too real — and every stroke made your pussy squeeze around him like it was trying to keep him inside.

“That’s it…yeah…”

He grabbed your ass, lifted you up, dropped you back down.

You moaned—loud.

“No one can fuck you like I can,” he said, voice low, possessive. “Ain’t nobody ever had you like this.”

You nodded fast, eyes fluttering shut.

“Say it.”

“You, Stack — ha — just you —”

“Damn right.”

He started moving under you now — hips thrusting up while you bounced, rhythm locking together like y’all done this before. Like your bodies knew each other.

Your second orgasm snuck up fast.

You tried to stop it — couldn’t.

“F-fuck— I’m—”

“You gon’ come again,” Stack whispered in your ear, teeth dragging down your neck. “‘Cause I said so.”

This bitch.

Your mouth fell open.

Eyes rolled.

You came hard — walls squeezing him tight, thighs shaking, moans breaking into high, breathless whimpers as he kept stroking through it.

“Shhh,” he cooed, lips at your neck. “You good?”

You nodded, laying your head on his shoulder.

You couldn’t even move.

But he was still hard. Still inside. Still fucking you slow.

And then?

He kissed your shoulder and whispered:

“Now ride me one more time, pretty…”

You whined into his chest. “Stack, I can’t—”

“Yes you can. You just scared ‘cause you know I fuck you too good.”

You clenched.

His damn voice alone had your pussy fluttering.

Then his hands slid down your spine — slow. He dragged your hips back a little, adjusted his seat under you, and pressed up from below.

Deep.

“Ohh — shit—”

“Yeah…you feel that?”

You bit his shoulder to keep from screaming.

Stack chuckled, low and smug, fingers curling around the fat of your ass, pulling you back until his tip was nearly out — then slamming you back down so hard you bounced.

“Ride me like you mean it, baby.”

Your hips moved on instinct.

You didn’t have no pride left. None. He took it when he made you come the first time — stole it again when he made you suck your own slick off his fingers.

Now? Now you were drunk, fucked out, but riding him like your life depended on it.

“I hate you so much.”

“No you don’t — Say my name.”

“Stack.”

“That’s it, baby.”

His grip got tighter, his mouth meaner — biting at your neck, licking up your throat. Your body rolled, bounced, circled on top of him. And every move? Sent his thick, heavy length dragging against that spot — that deep ache that made your walls clamp down like a fucking vice.

“Damn, you don’t stop gripping me,” he groaned. “Like your pussy know who it belong to.”

You moaned.

“Don’t go quiet now. You was real loud five minutes ago.”

“Fuck — please shut up—”

His hand went between your legs again. Brushed that swollen clit just right.

And your hips bucked.

Hard.

“Stack—Stack, wait— hollon—!”

He only chuckled.

Your whole body locked up — legs seizing, mouth falling open, a broken cry slipping past your lips as your climax hit like a freight train. Walls pulsing, heartbeat pounding, breath knocked out your chest.

You slumped forward, crying into his neck, trying to breathe.

Stack held you.

Stroked your back.

And then?

“You done?”

You nodded.

“Too bad.”

“Bitch…”

“Nah, I’m just fuckin’ with you.”

“STACK—” You slapped at his chest.

He laughed — deep, raspy, smug as hell — pulling out slow and watching you squirm from the sensitivity.

“Chill, baby,” he said, leaning back, dragging his hands down his face. “You damn near passed out on me. I had to say something to keep you up.”

You groaned. “You ain’t right.”

“You knew that before you brought me back here.”

You rolled your eyes — but your body was still shaking. And the air was hot, too hot. All that sweat, that steam, your legs sticky and trembling.

So you slid off the little couch and laid flat on the floor.

“Mm…this floor cold,” you mumbled, cheek pressed to the tile. “Thank God.”

Stack raised a brow. “You deadass on the floor?”

“Hell yeah, I’m on the floor.”

You spread your limbs like a starfish, toes still curled. You needed a minute. Maybe an hour.

Maybe Jesus himself.

Stack just watched you, still ‘sittin with that smug-ass look, dick hangin’ halfway hard, sweats barely pulled up.

And then it hit you.

“Wait—” You turned your head. “You ain’t even…you didn’t cum?”

He smirked. Shrugged.

“Nah, I’m good.”

“GOOD??”

He leaned his head like he wasn’t the reason your soul left your body. Like he didn’t just rearrange your organs then get up and walk off like it was nothing.

You narrowed your eyes.

“A girl ever told you she felt it in her stomach?”

Stack grinned. “Few times.”

You blinked, chest still rising and falling.

“…Well I just felt you leave my stomach.”

He barked out a laugh.

That smug-ass, hood-rich, cocky laugh that let you know he was proud of every. single. stroke.

“Yeah?” he said, licking his lips. “You welcome.”

You rolled onto your side, lips twisted. “Nasty-ass…”

He came over, crouched beside you, ran his hand down your bare thigh, real slow.

“You look good like this. Fucked out. Quiet.”

“I’m not quiet.”

“You was just now.”

You glared. He kissed your cheek. You hated how much you liked it.

“Do I look okay to walk out?” you asked, sitting up slow. “Or should I just stay here till morning?”

Stack looked you up and down.

Dress wrinkled. Lip gloss gone. Hair slightly wild but somehow still pretty. Panties still askew.

He licked his lips again.

“Nah, you cute…but stay with me ten more minutes and you ain’t walkin’ nowhere.”

You sucked your teeth. “Ughhh, nigga.”

He laughed, stood up, pulled his sweats back on, adjusting himself with a wince.

You watched him, curious.

“So you really ain’t finish?”

Stack leaned over, helped you up — gentle like he hadn’t been tearing you in half couple minutes ago.

He whispered, mouth against your neck:

“Nah…I’m savin’ it.” He said pulling you dress down by the hem.

You blinked. “For who?”

He smirked.

“For when you beg me next time.”

You rolled your eyes.

"Boy bye."

Sorry yall…

Lil taglist — @deadvilesworld (ik you hurt girl...so I will apologize again - sorry) @wingedpeachjudgegiant @myfavscentislavender @remmickcherie @majorkee @authentic-girl03 @vintigepimpzinio @heauxtales @honestlyurslol @li-da-savage